


The Closet is a Metaphor

by cloverfield



Category: xxxHoLic
Genre: I Said Not Now Boner, Locked In The Closet Together, M/M, Teenage Grinding, UST Meme, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22113826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: UST meme: Trapped in a Confined Space“What kind of -nngh!- school has windows thatrandomly burst open, blowing storm gale winds across the room to send their students tumbling overextremelypolished floors -hah- which makes them fall into cramped closets with closet doors thatswing shut on their ownand then spontaneouslylock?! Argh!”
Relationships: Doumeki Shizuka/Watanuki Kimihiro
Comments: 12
Kudos: 86





	The Closet is a Metaphor

**Author's Note:**

> This is just awkward teenage hormones, like, the whole thing.

“I am _going_ ,” grunts Watanuki, thin arms shaking as he shoves against the closet door, “to file a _complaint_.” The soles of his indoor shoes squeak hopelessly against scuffed linoleum as he struggles, and his left knee is uncomfortably close to Shizuka’s face. _All_ of him is uncomfortably close to Shizuka’s face, seeing as they’re both trapped in a tiny space maybe two feet wide and the single door is closed behind them.

He’s probably red-faced and sweating already. Only probably, because the light in the closet is out, and Shizuka can’t see two inches in front of his nose with Watanuki crouched over him in the gloom like this.

“What kind of - _nngh_! - school has windows that _randomly burst open_ , blowing storm gale winds across the room to send their students tumbling over _extremely_ polished floors - _hah_ \- which makes them fall into cramped closets with closet doors that _swing shut on their own_ and then spontaneously _lock_?! Argh!”

“It was probably ghosts,” says Shizuka. It was _always_ ghosts with Watanuki.

The elbow grinding down on top of his head is probably an accident, but could also be Watanuki losing his temper. “You - _you are not helping_. If you’re not gonna put those - _hff_ \- archery muscles of yours to any use and get this door open, then you can just, just _sit there_ and be _quiet_!”

“My legs are halfway up the wall,” says Shizuka. “I can’t move.” He really can’t - he’d skidded into the tiny space on his back with legs outstretched, bent arms braced against brick walls, and as he is now, with one of his shoulders pressed painfully against the back corner of the mercifully-empty closet, he can’t even attempt standing up without Watanuki landing in his lap. 

Which is probably not the best idea, considering.

(Considering Watanuki is an idiot, with sharp elbows and a loud mouth; considering Watanuki looks at Kunogi like she makes the sun rise; considering Shizuka knows better than to expect anything more than begrudging thanks and the rare flicker of a grateful smile; considering, considering, _considering_ – )

“I _swear_ \- when I get, _hng_ , out of here, I’m gonna - I’m _gonna_ -”

“File a complaint?” 

_“Argh!!”_

It’s not like Shizuka _means_ to piss Watanuki off by a) opening his mouth, or b) existing in general - it’s just something that comes naturally, without any effort, and especially in those moments he really should just keep his damn mouth shut.

Like this moment, where Watanuki’s snarl of rage turns into a high-pitched squeak as sweaty palms slip on laminated wood and he collapses downwards in a tumble of thin limbs on top of Shizuka, whose arms are braced against the too-close walls of the closet and not in any position whatsoever to catch him.

“Ooof-!”

Shizuka catches an elbow in the gut and a knee somewhere even more uncomfortable, and there’s a long moment where everything is just pain and flailing limbs as they attempt to untangle themselves in a tiny space not meant for more than a few coats, let alone two teenage boys.

Somehow, there’s no blood or broken bones - unusual, for one of their adventures - and the only thing Shizuka can really complain about is how the sudden weight crumpling down onto him knocked the breath from his lungs. Or he _would_ complain, if he could speak, because Watanuki is -

Watanuki is _so close now_ , so uncomfortably close, legs splayed and squeezing about Shizuka’s thighs and his body heavy in Shizuka’s lap, one hand braced against the door over Shizuka’s head as he crumpled down low and his breath damp and hot and _huffing_ in Shizuka’s ear as he curses up a storm - 

“ _Ow_ , ow, damn it _owww_ \- that hurt so damn _much_ -”

\- and Shizuka’s hands are, are on his _waist_ , narrow and moving under his palms as Watanuki breathes, thin cotton no barrier at all to the feel of his ribs expanding in short, grumpy breaths as he struggles to right himself, Shizuka’s fingers slipping on his rumpled shirt and catching on bare, soft, _warm_ skin -

“Nnhh - let me just - _ah_!”

“ _Hnf_.” 

This time it’s Shizuka that grunts, because Watanuki’s elbow just clipped his ear with bludgeoning force, but it’s the weight landing on his chest that really knocks him breathless. As skinny as he is - all bones and bad temper, stringy muscle and long slender fingers that are very skilled - Watanuki is so solid and so suddenly _real_ where they’re crushed together: a heaving, grumbling, moving weight that _wriggles_ upwards in Shizuka’s lap. _Something_ twists in his gut and Shizuka’s hands spasm as they clamp down abruptly, his fingers digging hard into Watanuki’s hips.

“Don’t,” manages Shizuka, struggling to speak past a tongue that feels thick, sticking to the roof of his mouth. “ _Don’t_ do that. Please.” He sounds pained, even to his own ears, but _pain_ isn’t the problem.

Watanuki stills immediately, suddenly silent, and a long moment thumps in Shizuka’s ears as it passes, his hands tight on the dip of Watanuki’s waist and one finger caught treacherously under the edge of Watanuki’s shirt, bare skin soft against his callused fingertip and his pulse throbbing in every place they touch.

“Um,” says Watanuki quietly, and part of Shizuka wants to curl up and _die_ \- except other parts of him have no objection to this situation whatsoever, and Watanuki can very obviously tell that, considering his precarious and extremely personal position seated atop Shizuka's lap. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

To _what_ , he never says, trailing off into a whisper, and carefully - _very_ carefully - Watanuki moves backwards, his legs trembling against Shizuka’s knees as he tries to get his feet under him, straining upwards with one hand smacking against the door -

\- which, naturally, chooses this _exact_ moment to become magically _un_ locked, slamming open as though yanked by an unseen hand. Watanuki collapses, his tenuous balance shot, and once more he pins Shizuka in place beneath his whole body, crumpling down as though an unfriendly hand landed between his shoulders and _shoved_.

Shizuka closes his eyes. Watanuki’s knee is wedged between his thighs and Watanuki’s hands are splayed across his chest, and Watanuki’s face is _so close_ to his own he can feel the burn as they _both_ blush, and if there was ever a time that Shizuka would like the earth’s crust to split open beneath him and swallow him down into its yawning darkness, now would be good.

Somewhere, ringing in his ears like a taunt, the final bell of the day tolls, dull tones echoing across the empty classroom. Shizuka sighs. “Please get off me.”

“Uh - right!” Watanuki scrambles upright with the minimum of fuss and absolutely no sarcastic commentary, which means Shizuka really has died and gone to the afterlife, because he’d definitely have to be dead for Watanuki to keep his extremely loud opinions to himself.

Eventually, and still with his eyes closed, Shizuka rolls to his knees; slips into seiza with his hands in his lap and the discomforting knot of embarrassment all tangled up in his chest, and when he does crack an eye open it’s to find Watanuki resolutely staring across the room to the old and dusty blackboard, afternoon light leaking through shuttered windows turning his ears just as pink as the blush burning up his face.

“That didn’t happen,” says Watanuki hurriedly. “No one got shoved into a coat cupboard, no one got tangled with anyone else, and there was definitely,” he gulps a breath, back stiffening and expression rigid, “ _definitely_ no grinding whatsoever.”

Shizuka swallows. “Right.”

“We should. We should go, uh. _Home_. Our _own_ homes. Yes.” It’s the least coherent thing Shizuka has heard come out of that mouth all day, and it’s a blessing. This is just going to be another thing they don’t talk about, and Shizuka can deal with that. They already have so many things they don't talk about, after all.

Even if a part of him - a small part, a ruthlessly squashed down and ignored part - kind of _does_ want to talk about it.

“I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow?” It sounds like a question, even though it’s not, and it’s a straw Shizuka grasps at with both hands, dragging themselves back to normalcy.

“Bring that inari and those omelettes,” says Shizuka, because it’s expected of him at this point, and Watanuki does the obligatory huff and snarl, stomping towards the door as though his uniform wasn’t all untucked from his trousers at the back - as though Shizuka’s hands _haven’t_ touched the sliver of warm skin peeking out between his belt and his shirt.

“Whatever,” snaps Watanuki, but he doesn’t slam the door behind him, and his ears are still a bit pink even as he storms out and down the hall. It’s the best Shizuka is going to get, probably.

**Author's Note:**

> "It was always ghosts with Watanuki" is my favourite line in this whole fic.


End file.
